Last night I dreamed I'd bought a cottage. I couldn't see the water. In fact was so busy in the new place that was just the size of my real life kitchen that I didn't go explore. There was a plumber there who wouldn't leave until he had someone else view his work. Then there were two plumbers there They showed me the doors that led outside, on top of which teetered buckets of water, like for a prank. But while the water sloshed about, the buckets balanced and didn't spill. The two water guys seemed to think this was a good setup.
Then back in my new cottage I was considering maybe putting in a new small kitchen countertop at some point, and maybe some under-cabinet work, since the storage area was crumbling and frightening.
Then my sister appeared by my side to tell me she had prostatitis.
Then I notice the far side of the room where my brother sat, with maybe my friend Mary, maybe my high school friend Lee Ann. In any case, every seat was full.
In the kitchen I noticed there was a can of Cheese-wiz that had been put away empty, and there was sprayed cheese lining the inside of the trash bin and the inside of a box of crackers and I immediately accused my brother who was guilty as charged.
Then Mary appeared by my side and said she was going upstairs and I wondered how long she was supposed to be there and remembered only a day, that she was leaving on Monday.
Then I went outside and across the way from my house was an A-frame cottage, all glass, didn't look like anyone was home, but the walls were lined with books and souvenirs from walks in woods and games and articles about the art in plastic frames like you'd find in a museum house. I remembered I'd seen this house in an article I'd read about a writer but couldn't who it was and was momentarily excited by the idea that it was someone whom I knew of and admired, until a man rounded the corner and saw me. I told hi I was his new neighbor and he introduced himself. I said, "Say it again?" He said something like three letters, sounded like Um-a-Pie. I repeated it back.
Then I continued my walk noticing I had a backyard area and a gate that led down a narrow path like in an old village. I headed down the hill and saw water - the ocean. All high water. No shore. No beach. Just waves. Two people came surfing toward me, a young woman lying on a board and a young guy with her, trying to help find her bathing suit that had come off and left her naked...
Recently I told someone that this strange period of time with the puzzles, daydreaming, cooking and reading feels like a vacation at the lake, except with a deadly virus thrown in. I think my dreams know that.
